


Abandon

by shiplizard



Series: Strange Devices [1]
Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-19
Updated: 2010-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/shiplizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry makes a deal with his friendly neighborhood spirit of intellect.  It goes better than it might have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abandon

Bob's energy flowed towards me, a hesitant tide of candle-flame. Orangish. Sluggish.

"Are you having second thoughts, Bob?"

"I don't want to... hurt you," the spirit said, worry in his voice.

"I expect you to do whatever you'd do to any of your other victims."

"Victims!" Bob protested indignantly.

"You're the one who's worried about hurting me," I said tightly.

"Psychologically. You haven't done anything with your libido since Susan."

I felt my jaw tighten. "_Bob._ Get on with it." I felt my anger rising as the candle-flame descended on me. I'd been feeling this way since who knew when. Since I realized I'd sent phobophages after Molly Carpenter? No. Before that. Since I picked up the coin of a fallen angel to save an innocent child? (Why didn't I just pick up Harry!) Before that.

Since Susan. Since I found her in that dank cell, half-turned, infected by the Red Court. Since the moment I'd realized that I would lose her.

Damn the spirit.

And Bob had maneuvered me into this deal-- I couldn't let him go out on his own after what he'd done to that fraternity. He swore he thought they'd deadened their memories of his improvised Falcon film, but three of then had come to me about a 'possession'-- and that one poor young man who thought he was still 'possessed.'

I couldn't let him do that to anyone else. But I needed information, and the highest coin I have to trade with Bob is a night out.

I hadn't had a choice.

_Stay in the lab, Bob,_ I'd told him. _You can do whatever you want to with me, and any other volunteers I can round up-_ I knew I could find willing volunteers among a group of actors I'd worked with once, protecting. Bob was even a fan of their particular brand of adult films. I thought he'd jump at the chance.

He'd just wanted me.

Now he had me, and I gritted my teeth, trying to relax against the tingles of magic. I didn't feel any effect from them-- maybe he couldn't affect a wizard. I wasn't feeling romantic-- I was furious at him, at everything. I wanted to smash something, hunt the vague source of all my troubles down and beat him with a club like a caveman. I wanted to rage and scream and rip--

I wanted to tear myself straight out of my clothes. And so I did. Buttons pinged from my shirt as I yanked it in two directions. The cool air on my chest shocked me awake, aware-- it felt like every nerve on my skin was exposed.

I snarled and raked my hand across the exposed skin, leaving red lines across one pectoral. The pleasure was so intense that I dropped to my knees. I stared at the reddened skin, my teeth bared in a snarl, my breath coming in hard pants. My nails were too blunt to draw blood, and I looked up to my work table. I was sure I had a knife there, and I _knew_ that to cut the skin would feel even better-

"No, Harry," a voice chastised me, and a warm, gentle force pushed me away from the table.

"Let me go, Bob," I hissed. He didn't answer, and I strained against him-- he was about as yielding as a cement pylon. Frustrated, I clawed my chest again, my exposed, soft stomach.

Then a different pain hit me. I didn't know how long I'd been feeling it, but there was a crushing pressure between my legs.

My damn _pants!_ Another wave of fury hit me and I ripped them open, the button of the fly nearly ripping free, the zipper parting with a shriek. My boxers were an afterthought; they just tore apart under my hands. The fabric just gave.

The pressure-pain was gone, and I grabbed myself. Hard enough to hurt, but since everything felt good, I didn't let up. I grabbed for my balls to squeeze, to dig my nails in-

"NO, Harry." The warm force pried my hands free and dragged them away from my groin, pinning them together and slamming them to the stone floor above my head.

"DAMN YOU!" I howled, straining against the unyielding, invisible barrier. I almost jerked my shoulders out of their sockets, and I could feel the muscles starting to burn already.

I knew, with some small part of my consciousness, that I couldn't beat the force off with my body. If I had really wanted to be free, all I had to do was to summon my magic and push. And I knew with that same part that I wanted to be trapped. To just scream and thrash against nothing, to wear myself out-

Then the force jerked my legs apart, and a tendril of candle-flame curled around my erection and pumped. And there wasn't any small part of my consciousness left to do anything-- it was all rage and pain and pleasure building hotter and hotter. My chest felt like it was going to explode.

It didn't. But orgasm did, and I arched off the floor of my lab, staring at the ceiling.

The rage drained out of me, and my muscles relaxed. I felt like I'd been running; there was a faint soreness in my muscles, a feeling of exhaustion and peace. I lay back on the floor-- it should have been cold, but it was soft and warm.

Maybe I wasn't really lying on the floor at all.

"Harry," Bob murmured in my ear, voice riddled with concern. "Harry, are you all right? I didn't want to hurt you, I was worried about this, are you all right?"

My eyes slipped closed and I moved my hands. They weren't pinned anymore; I slipped one across the scrapes on my chest. They still tingled. I lazily kicked off my jeans, and Bob gasped.

"More..." I sighed, slowly tracing the contours of my chest. The rasp of skin on skin felt fantastic, and my hips jerked as I touched a nipple. It was so good that I did it again, flicking it with a thumb, and the pulse of pleasure made me gasp.

Without the anger, it just felt good. I hadn't felt this good in a long time.

I don't masturbate much. Make that at all. It feels improper, I suppose. Sex is a beautiful, powerful thing that's so fundamentally about a joining. I can't enjoy staring at the ceiling and trying to pretend my hand belongs to someone a lot prettier.

But it felt so good, now, and I was warm and cushioned and the darkness behind my eyelids was completely soothing. I moved my hand experimentally down my stomach, marvelling at the tingles of sensation. I thought that my cock would be sensitive, overstimulated-- but it wasn't. In fact, it was already half-hard and it twitched as my fingertips fluttered over it. I felt my lips part involuntarily.

"Harry." Bob sounded shocked. "Harry, are you sure?"

"Mm. Mm-hmm?" I rolled my hips languidly. "Please?" I cajoled him.

"Oh, hell, when you ask like _that,_" the spirit muttered, and tongues of warmth slid over my hands. "Have you got any idea how you look right now?"

"Nope." I didn't care. I reached up with my free hand to touch my lips, moaning at how sensitive they were. And then my fingertips were sensitive, too-- I wondered--

I was right. Sucking on my fingers felt fantastic.

Bob's voice sounded like I felt. "_Harry._" A wash of warmth rolled my chest and concentrated on my nipples. I smiled around my fingers, pleased and perfectly overstimulated.

"There are other things that might feel good," he murmured, and I heard a clink, the rattle of something rolling off the table.

I pulled my fingers out of my mouth and traced them over a nipple, almost clinically. Check-mark; cool, wet feeling on the nipples was a winner. "All ears, Bob." Everything felt slow, perfect. I was open to suggestions; supremely so. But Bob did that, didn't he? I didn't feel like I had any inhibitions left, and I didn't mind at all.

There was a clink of a jar, and I smelled olives. Ah, yes. I kept some olive oil in the lab; useful ingredient for a surprising number of potions. But I didn't think we were going to be brewing a potion.

"I want you to do this yourself," the spirit told me. I frowned, not wanting to open my eyes. "Just put your hand out, on the floor, about two feet from your shoulder.

I found something cylindrical, slender, solid. A wax taper, I had dozens of them for various spells.

Slender rod. Olive oil. I knew where this was going. I wondered if I should be horrified. I wasn't. And I certainly didn't feel like making the effort to be, especially if it had the chance to feel good.

The jar tapped my hand, and I dipped my fingers into it, coating them in oil. I skimmed them over the candlestick, and then thoughtfully spread my legs.

There was a stillness, as if something that didn't have to breathe was holding his breath. I slid my fingers down to touch the entrance of my body.

"Stars and stones." My voice sounded throaty. Almost a purr. So many nerves, just a touch sent a tingle up my spine. I just traced the entrance a while, delighting in the pleasure, experimenting with different sensations, trace and tap and slide. Then I probed, just a little into the ring of muscle, and there was an indescribable stretching feeling. Not a tearing-- just a stretch.

"Yes," Bob whispered, his voice low and caressing. "It feels good. The taper will go in deeper. Easier."

He was right. It was cool, a little invasive, but the oil helped.

"Stop, now," Bob whispered when I still had a few inches in my hand. "Now don't thrust, or pull it. Just rotate it." It felt a little like I was stirring my guts, but in a good way. The stretching feeling started to fade, and I missed it, but it was replaced by a vague, pleasant feeling. It wasn't as good as sucking my fingers, though.

"Move it just a little. You're looking for something."

Prostate, right? Right. I lazily twisted the taper. Then I found it.

"BOB!" My hips spasmed up and I was braced on my shoulders. My mouth was gaping open, I was panting-- and I twisted the taper, again, again--

"Yes. Oh, mmm--" The fingertips of my clean, free hand, slid back into my mouth and it was perfect. I was completely immersed in pleasure. You could have poked me and I would have leaked contentment like a saturated sponge.

Warm energy encircled my erection for the second time, gentle now. And he played with my skin. The touch of energy on my ear was so much like a tongue I could almost forget that there wasn't a body beside me. Bob couldn't seem to keep his hands (or whatever) off of me. Didn't blame him, I couldn't keep my hands off me--

It wasn't an explosion. It was the breaking of a dam; it spilled out of me like water, inexorable.

I relaxed back onto the floor, the taper sliding out of my body.

"How are you doing, boss?" Bob asked, sounding almost shy.

"Hell's bells, I feel like I've been running a marathon," I groaned. "Have you ever killed anyone doing that?"

"No. But what a way to go." He sounded cautiously smug.

"Thank you."

"Er. Wait until you've recovered before you say anything like that."

I lowered the slightest fraction of an inch down to the lab floor, and felt the cool surface under me as Bob let me go. There was the sense of something evaporating, the unnatural energy that had gotten my nerves so sensitive evaporating off of my skin. And something flowing back in, things that Bob had blocked and absorbed.

Like my inhibitions. I felt my face go hot, and I sat straight up, opening my eyes.

Hell. In my own lab. Just on the floor. Naked, half of my clothes ruined, my jeans in the corner where I'd kicked them.

I glared at the skull on my worktable.

"Bob?"

Light flared in the eyesockets.

"Yes, boss?" the skull said, almost desperately conversational. "You want me to get started on those names for you?"

"What was that about?"

"Well..." it hedged. I guess I was just projecting, but it looked awfully shame-faced, for a skull.

"You like orgies," I accused.

"I like a little kink, sure."

"That was pretty kinky, all right." My face was still flaming. I grabbed my jeans and hopped into them, never taking my glare off of the skull. "Why me, like that? I thought you'd want other people. Those people from the pornos you love so much."

"I like bending people a little. Making them experience pleasures that they wouldn't let themselves, otherwise."

Like masturbating. Like-- stars and stones, that CANDLESTICK. I scrubbed a hand-- not the oily hand-- over my face.

"And you are quite attractive, so..."

"If you wanted attractive, you could have asked Thomas," I snapped. "Or had me ask him. He probably would have agreed. And brought friends."

"Eh," the skull said dismissively.

'Eh?' He had to have been flattering me. Thomas is my half brother, a white-court vampire. An Incubus. People don't 'eh' white court vampires.

But he 'eh'd' Thomas and he said that I was 'quite attractive.' He had to want something.

"Is this the part where you tell me that it was all me, you just gave me a little push?"

The skull's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding, boss? You'd never have done half of that stuff in a million years."

"Good," I said, grumpily. "Now get on those names."

"On it, boss."

He flowed out of the skull, and then out of the room.

And left me to realize that there was a pretty huge dent in my stockpile of stress and anger. Sneaky spirit. I wondered what he was up to-- I made a note to find out before this went any further. And further might have to happen. I might need information again some time.

I looked down at the wreck of my shirt and the ruin of my boxers, balled them up into a sad little pile and went upstairs to dump them in the trash. I wasn't walking too awkwardly, though the new spring in my step wasn't helping.

Maybe I'd need information again some time _soon_.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the I-swear-it's-a-one-shot fic that led to the lumbering behemoth that is Strange Devices, but I think that as far as meritless smut goes, it can stand on its own.


End file.
